As a result of the delays that plague every large-scale operation, more than a ten-night passed before the skis were built, the men taught to use them, the organizational wrinkles smoothed out, and the expedition against the Morya Sun-qaruma squared away. Barnevelt, having deposited his reward from the queen with the banking firm of Ta'lun & Fosq, worried because the hurricane season in the Banjao Sea was drawing close. He found, however, that there was little he could do either to help or to hinder; the commanders under him went about their several tasks regardless. He was, he thought, a figurehead, though a necessary one to keep the others from trying to boss one another and quarreling.
One day Tangaloa said, "Dirk, I think we can stoush the Sunqaruma all right. But how the flopping hell are we to keep our troopers from doing in Igor Shtain along with the rest?"
Barnevelt thought. "I think I know. We'll take a leaf out of the pirates' own book. Have you still got that photograph of Igor I left with you when I went after Zei?"
"Yes."
Then Barnevelt went to the queen and said: "Your Altitude, there's an old photographer in Jazmurian…"
"I know the one, for but lately did the Artists' Guild of Jazmurian hale him into court on charges that he'd hired a band of bravoes to assail them in the streets, their competition to abate. But when the case came up it transpired that the bravoes were but a pair of travelers named Snyol of Pleshch and Tagde of Vyutr—names possessing a familiar sound— who did nothing but resist this Guild's extortionate demands. So my judge dismissed the case with a warning to those overweening daubers. What about him?"
"He's a spy for the Sunqaruma, and I wish you'd have him arrested…"
"Arrested, forsooth! I'll have the blackguard boiled alive till the flesh sloughs from his bones I Be this his gratitude for our even-handed justice? I'll have his head sawn off with a jeweller's saw, a hair's breadth at a stroke! I'll…"
"Please, Queen! I have another use for him."
"Well?"
"There's an Earthman in the Sunqar I particularly want taken alive…"
"Why?"
"Oh, he did me a bad turn once and I want to work him over little by little, for years. So I don't wish one of our soldiers to give him a quick death. Now, I want the old photographer allowed to keep his head and go scot-free in return for a piece of work—to reproduce a picture of this Earthman. He can have all the help and materials he needs, so long as he turns me out three thousand prints before we sail. Then I'll distribute them among the assault troops, with word there's a five-thousand-kard reward for this Earthman alive, but none dead."
"You have strange ideas, Master Snyol, but it shall be as you desire."
On the appointed day, Barnevelt led those who were seeing him off onto the deck of Majbur's Junsar, which he had selected as flagship. (The queen had been surprised and disappointed, expecting him to choose her own Douri De-janai. He persisted in his choice, however, to avoid any appearance of partiality. Besides, the Junsar was bigger.) Everybody came aboard to drink and chatter like any sailing party.
Barnevelt wanted a private good-bye with Zei, with whom he had hardly had a private word since their return to Ghulinde. However, for a long time both he and she were enmeshed in polite conversations with others. At last he took the shaihan by the horns, excused himself, and said, "Will you step in here a minute, princess?"
He led her into his private cabin, stooping to avoid hitting his head on the cross-beams.
"Good-bye, darling," he said, and swept her into his arms.
When he released her she said, "You must come back, my dearest love. Life will otherwise be savorless. Surely we can come to some agreement to meet your stipulations. Why should I not make you paramour permanent, when I'm queen, to reign over my affections perennially whilst my wittol spouses come and go?"
'Fraid not. Don't tell anybody, but I'm really a very moral fellow."
"If that concordat suits you not, such is the burning passion in my liver that I'd cast away my royal rank to tramp the world with you, or plunge into the dread deeps of space whence come the exotic Terrans. For my secret hope has ever been to be mastered by a man of might and mettle such as you."
"Oh, come, I'm not that good . . ."
"There's none like unto you! Qara, if indeed he lived and be no figment of a poet's fancy, were no stauncher hero. But say the word…"
"Now, now, stop crying. We'll settle that when I see you again." He neglected to add that, if his plans worked out, that time would never come.
Her praise made him uncomfortable, for he could not help a guilty feeling that much trouble, including the death of Chask, might have been avoided had he handled the Shambor's crew more skillfully. Although he did love her (damn it all!) he still thought the course he planned the best for all. He hoped, once Shtain were secured and the film shot, to fade quietly out of the Krishnan landscape and return to Earth.
He kissed her with a fervor that would have done credit to the great actor Roberto Kahn, dried her eyes, and led her back on deck. The party broke up, those who—like Prince Ferrian—were going along, to scatter to their own ships; those who—like King Penjird of Zamba—weren't, to go ashore. With flags flapping, bands blaring, fireworks fizzing, thousands waving from the docks of Damovang, oars thumping, and one of Ferrian's rocket gliders circling overhead, the combined armada filed out upon the smaragdine sea.
CHAPTER NINE
Again the hills of Fossanderan came into view, this time covered with black stumps like an unshaven chin seen under the microscope. Only away to the left, towards the eastern end of the island, did the greens and browns and mauves and purples of growing Krishnan vegetation persist.
Barnevelt, leaning against the forward rail of the Junsar, said, "George, pass the word we're putting in to the cove on the north shore of Fossanderan to top off our water. I don't want to be caught short again."
"If they make a stink about the demons?"
"Oh, fool! Remind 'em I'm the guy who cleaned up on the demons single-handed. Of course the water parties will need guards."
The fleet drew up along the north shore of the island and gathered water while hundreds of rowers went ashore to catch a few hours' sleep on solid ground after putting up with crampsome dozens on their benches since leaving Damovang. Of the tailed men there was no sign, and the story of Barnevelt's exploit seemed to have killed much of the popular dread of the place.
When the leaders gathered aboard the Junsar for a conference, the Dasht of Darya asked, "Suppose these villains ask terms?"
"Heave their emissaries into the sea!" said Queen Alvandi.
"Not in accord with the practice of civilized nations…" began the Majburo admiral.
"Who cares? Who calls these sanguinary filchers civilized?"
"A moment, madam," said Prince Ferrian. "A proper moral tone is no small advantage to an enterprise like ours, sobeit it costs but little. Offer 'em, say I, terms they'll refuse. Like-say—their bare lives alone."
And so it was decided.
When the water had been replenished and the sleeping oarsmen roused, the fleet put forth again. Behind the leading Junsar plowed the grotesque shape of Ferrian's oared aircraft carrier, the Kumanisht. The catapult in the latter's bow whanged, hurling a rocket-glider into the air on a practice flight, to circle over the fleet and drift in over the tail of the flight deck, where the handling crew caught it.